


Breaking the Rules

by HobbitKitten



Series: Tell Me Everything [2]
Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:20:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2836154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HobbitKitten/pseuds/HobbitKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is in charge. Very in charge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking the Rules

 

It's strange. Being with Dean. Not - I mean, not because he's a he. Not because he's a mate. Not even because he's a co-worker. 

Because he's in charge.  

Never, not once,  _ever_  have I let another man be in control in the bedroom. And no, I don't mean because Dean's on top.  Honestly, when I'm with a man, he usually tops the hell out of me. But. I always have the final say.  I'll try most anything, but my rules are  _the_  rules and anyone who breaks 'em is kicked out of my bed faster than he can blink. And with some degree of force.  I have to be in control. Have to. I probably have trust issues, but I came by them honestly. So. No surprises. Not ever. Every man I've ever been with has known who was  _really_  in charge, regardless of what fun little games I let him play.  And those little games NEVER involve bondage of any sort. Well. I never get tied up, let's just leave it at that.

But Dean? Jesus, I don't know what's wrong with me. I just let him manhandle me. With us, there's never been a question as to who's in charge, and it's not me.  I think I would do basically anything he wanted. And I'm totally fine with it. And  _that's_ what's strange. 

Take now, for example.

I try telling myself that I'm not  _really_  tied up. Not technically. We're at my place, in my bed. We'd been out to some fancy-pants dance club tonight celebrating... I don't even know what, with the dwarven boys. It'd taken some doing, but we did eventually get everyone on the dance floor. I was having a great time, honestly. Just getting started. Then, from behind me, I heard Dean's voice, lower, rougher than usual. Felt his hot breath on my neck. "We're leaving." And just like that. I was trotting out the door on his heels like a well-trained puppy.

And now...

Well, he told me to lose my shirt, but he didn't really wait for me to do what he asked. Ordered. Whatever. 

Anyway, somehow he got my wrists all twisted up in the shirt, and he's pinned me to the bed.  One hand tangled in mine, the other deftly dealing with my zipper. He's straddling me, with one knee on either side of my hip,s and he sucks a mark on my collarbone. I give one last futile twist to try and free my hands from my shirt, but somehow I only seem to make it tighter.

I frown. And maybe whimper. Maybe. 

"So stop struggling." Dean's sitting back on his haunches now, watching me lose a fight to my shirt. He's smirking.  His eyes narrow a little. "Actually. It's a good look for you. Stay still."

And I do.  I don't bolt. I don't protest. I don't shove him off of me and bring my hands down to where I can see properly to untangle the shirt.  And those would typically be my go to moves in a situation like this.  Instead I go still. Seriously, what's wrong with me tonight?

He nods approvingly and slides off the bed.  He finishes stripping me (besides the shirt), and stands back while he slowly divests himself of his own clothes.  The whole time he watches me, looks me up and down, slowly taking in every inch of my recently bared skin.  It makes me squirm and I feel my face flush.

Which is also strange.  I don't mind people looking at me. I'm totally fine with my body. More than fine. I know I have a nice body. I like people looking at me.  I like Dean looking at me. But. I also desperately hope he likes what he sees and it makes me feel so... exposed, the intensity of his scrutiny.  

I expect him to climb back on top of me, kiss me.  But instead he just moves toward the end of the bed and runs walks his fingers up my leg, starting at my ankles, moving up to my knees and then back down to wrap a strong hand around each ankle. 

"You really do look good like this."

He tugs on my legs a bit and I scoot down a few inches.  He brings my ankles up to rest on his shoulders.  Turns his head, kisses each ankle, and starts working his way forward, throwing in a nip here, a lick there, as he slowly makes his way upwards. I'm starting to squirm, and I can feel a serious flush in my face now. I move my hands forward. To reach toward Dean. To touch myself. I don't really know. But. 

Dean fucking  _growls_  at me! He's stopped his work and sharp blue eyes fix me with something akin to a warning glare. I snap my hands back above my head and mumble some form of an "I'm sorry," hoping he'll go back to kissing on that very promising trajectory.

He does. In fact. He jumps right on ahead a few inches, and in one smooth, sure motion, he sucks my cock into his mouth. 

I close my eyes, let myself relax into the bed, and enjoy. Dean doesn't do this very often. Our encounters tend to be quick, fantastically dirty, and if anyone's on his knees, it's me. Not that I mind. But I do love _this_. 

Dean is very task oriented when he sucks dick. None of this teasing, or taunting, or feather light contact.  He sucks deep, and hard, and bloody enthusiastically. To the point. Good technique, O'Gorman.  But. The one downside is that I can't last long like this. I'm already dangerously close, so I do the polite thing and warn the guy. I can barely catch a breath, let alone speak above the near continuous moans, so, I reach down with my bound hands to stop him.

And stop he does. Immediately.

Well, shit. I forgot. I'm not supposed to move my hands. He snarls again and his eyes are downright dangerous. Before I can correct my error, he grabs hold of my offending limbs and physically flips me on to my stomach.

Deceptively strong, my little Deano.

My hands are now trapped, both in my shirt and underneath of me. And I've got a face full of comforter. I turn my head to the side and struggle to get up on my elbows, but then I feel a warm, strong hand, flat against the small of my back, holding me firmly in place.

"No."

Um. Okay? I go still, and that seems to be what he wants, because he makes an approving sort of noise and removes his hand.  He proceeds to manhandle me into the position he wants. In a short time I've got my knees pulled up under me, arse in the air, feeling quite exposed, shoulders and tangled hands still pressed to the mattress. I twist my neck a bit and shift as much weight as I can to one shoulder so that I can actually breathe oxygen instead of blanket.

Dean slides his hands down my flank, then across my upturned cheeks, down my legs and then back again. I can just picture him, sitting there, all bloody pleased with himself, admiring his work. That visual, for whatever reason, makes my cock twitch. Christ, would he hurry up and fuck me already? 

My heart is hammering, I shiver at every pass of his hands, and I'm so. Fucking. Hard.

I'm not above begging to be fucked. I mean come on, am I above anything at this point?

"Dean, ple-"

"Quiet."

"But, Dea - aah!" I make some strangled noise that's somewhere between a yelp and his name as he smacks me  _hard_  across the left cheek. It stings like hell, but I'm more surprised than anything. He traces a finger along what I'm sure is turning into a nice, angry, red mark.

Come on come on come ooooooon!

Then, another surprise. He leans down and kisses my stinging skin.  And again. And then he licks it.

"You talk to much, Turner."

I can feel the moisture of his breath on my skin. He spreads my cheeks apart and traces a finger across the exposed hole.  I'm breathing so quickly and so raggedly that I'm pretty sure I'm going to pass out.

"But on the other hand, I do love to make you scream."

And then I'm lost, and I couldn't be quiet for anything, because he's fucking  _licking_  my arse. His tongue circles the entrance and pushes against it, and I am screaming. Begging. Desperate. I can't think, and I can't focus, and I would quite literally do  _anything_  he asked of me right now if he would just please, please, please fuck me!

By the time he finally, fucking finally, slicks up his fingers and starts to stretch me open, I'm practically sobbing into the comforter, my severely neglected erection throbs and I am beyond desperate to come.  But I don't ask, or even beg, Dean to let me come, because I know it will  _only_  happen when he allows it.

He's fingering me harder now, and it's lovely, but it's just. Not quite enough. I'm getting frantic. 

With his free hand, Dean rubs my back. It is intended to be comforting, but I just can't calm down right now. Of course, it's also intended to keep me from struggling to my elbows or otherwise regaining any physical control of the situation, and that he achieves quite easily.

"What is it you want, Aidan?"

My wits are so dulled by now that it takes a bit for the question to sink in to my mush brain. Takes a bit longer to realize that he expects an actual answer. And just a bit too long for me to remember how to formulate words.

He removes his fingers and delivers another sharp smack across my bum. I bet I have matching hand-prints on each side. I gasp and manage to respond. Sort of.

"I... I don't- don't want anything. I...fuck...fucking hell. I fucking  _need_. You. Now. Fuck me. Please! Just fuck me Dean, please!"

He's laughing at me, but I don't care. Because he's shifting on the bed behind me, grabbing my waist hard, and none to slowly, sliding a well-lubed dick inside me. He sets a brutal pace, pounding hard and fast. Because he can. Because he knows I need it. I'm not so much sobbing as I am desperately trying to keep enough oxygen in my system to prevent from passing out, as I'm still quite literally, face down, on the bed, at an awkward angle, made more awkward as I'm shoved forward with every thrust. Dean doesn't let up for one second, and thank god for that. If he would just touch me... just a little... just once. But he doesn't. As best I can, given the circumstance, I push back against him, encouraging him to take what he wants. He does. It seems like hours, but is probably just a few minutes, given the state we're both in, but suddenly he's slamming into me one last time, and choking out my name as he comes. 

My muscles ache all over. My arse still stings. There are tears streaking my face and I'm panting like a fucking mutt. I've managed to get the shirt twisted so tight that my fingers are starting to tingle. I've got to look a fucking mess. But at long last, Dean takes pity. Still plastered across my back, he takes my weeping cock in his hand and it only takes a few, quick strokes before I'm coming all over my bound hands and the bed.

A short while later, when I'm next capable of coherent thought, I realize that Dean has helped me roll to my back and I gratefully stretch my cramped legs. I close my eyes and catch my breath while Dean deftly removes the shirt from my wrists. He lays down next to me and pulls me close to his chest. He presses a soft kiss to my sweat covered forehead and murmurs "Good boy." so softly I barely hear it. My face flushes. Burns. I really should gather up what's left of my dignity and hit the shower, let him have time to get dressed and head home. But I'm so warm. And tired. So tired.


End file.
